phantasmagoria in two
by Phantom Thief Oryx
Summary: I have to tell you now, because tomorrow you might be gone. — Teo/Sonya


**a/n:** Written for areyougame DW~

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She is so very young when he first meets her, a stick-thin little girl with a courageous gleam in her eyes. She trails after her mother much like a duckling would, jogging to catch up with Kilawher's long, confident strides.

"Care for a drink?" Kilawher asks him. _I know you could use one,_ are the words she doesn't say.

He glances at the girl. "What about…?"

"Oh, Sonya? She'll be fine. I'll order her something non-alcoholic." Kilawher grins and puts a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I've been away from home for a while, see? Now that I'm here I don't want to let this one out of my sight."

And Sonya beams brightly at her mother's words, opening up like a flower unfurling its petals to the sun.

.

After three drinks, he can feel his eyes starting to prickle. His throat is thick and his tongue feels like lead and his heart hurts and there's a faint pounding in his head that's getting more and more painful by the minute.

"Listen, Teo," Kilawher is saying. "You know as well as I do that life isn't fair. People get taken away much too early. People die and there's nothing we can do about it. All we can do is focus on the folks that are still here with us, y'know?"

Teo stares past her, across the room to where Sonya is playing with the innkeeper's girl. They're laughing and smiling and drawing pictures with bits of chalk, oblivious to everything but themselves and this single, fleeting moment. Oblivious to how terrible the world really is. Their naiveté is admirable, he thinks. If only he could go back to his own days of innocence. If only he could stay there forever, never having to face the bitter realities of living.

Kilawher follows his gaze. A fond smile flits across her face.

"She's already ten years old, if you can believe it. They grow up so fast, Teo. 'Blink and you'll miss it' – that's what they always say."

Sonya turns and waves at her mother, who waves back with a quiet laugh. And then, oddly enough, the girl looks at him. Even from across the room Sonya's blue eyes are brilliant and disconcerting and incredibly deep, like an endless ocean, and when her gaze settles upon him Teo has to look away for fear of being trapped.

"… Tir," he says.

"Hmm?"

"That's my boy's name. Tir. He… looks a lot like his mother."

Kilawher reaches over and touches his hand comfortingly and suddenly everything comes together in his mind, a terrible, sinking realization that hits him like a blow to the head. There are tears rolling down his cheeks, dripping unabashed from his chin, flecking the old wood of the table like rain does to dust.

_My wife is dead_, he thinks. _I have a son. Dear god, my wife is dead and I have a son._

"What do I do now?" he murmurs. "Please, Kilawher, what do I do?"

The woman stares at him for a moment, her expression soft and thoughtful.

"You just keep living," she says finally. "That's the only thing we can do, Teo. Just keep going and hope that one day it all makes sense."

.

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The camp is oddly quiet. All the usual sounds of an army preparing for battle – the dull murmur of voices, the crackling of fires, the sharpening of blades – are conspicuously absent, replaced instead by an eerie, oppressive silence. It is as if the men fear that the slightest noise might send their commander over the edge. And perhaps this fear is not unfounded.

Teo McDohl has never felt anything but contempt for _Emperor_ Geil Rugner. He is a conniving snake whose power-hungry ways have endangered the empire and cost many innocents their lives. But contempt is not the same as hatred. Hate is a strong word, Teo thinks. It should be reserved only for those who have wronged oneself in a personal and truly inexcusable way.

(He imagines Tir's confusion, his terrified thoughts, as the boy lies bound and gagged in some dank, dark room… He imagines Tir hurt, Tir crying, Tir dead in his arms, just another casualty of this foolish war…)

When Teo thinks of Geil Rugner now, there is only loathing, raging like a tidal wave, threatening to crash down upon him any moment and swallow him whole.

"General McDohl."

Teo glances up at the young recruit, a boy no older than seventeen, who lingers warily at the tent entrance.

"Yes, soldier? What is it?"

"A messenger has arrived for you, sir. They… they bring news of your son."

An icy fist clenches around Teo's heart, chilling him to his very core. "Very well then," he says, and tries to ignore the way his voice wavers. "I will go to them."

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He wasn't sure who he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't _her_. He had seen the girl many times since that day at the inn with Kilawher – they often crossed paths in the street, and bumped into one another at the port in Kaku, and Tir had taken to following her around like an eager pupil, desperate to be part of some secret "older kid" club. Not to mention Kilawher's annual (and infamous) holiday get-togethers.

But he had never really paid attention to the little blonde girl with the deep blue eyes, never really stopped to think about her.

And now, suddenly, Sonya Schulen is in front of him and she has grown up. She is taller, yes, and beginning to blossom into womanhood. But that is not what catches his eye. Because there is something sharp about her now, something harsh and unforgiving. A diamond polished again and again until its edges can cut through steel and draw blood at the merest touch.

Sonya Schulen has been changed by this war, just like the rest of them.

"General McDohl," she says, and inclines her head respectfully. "I bring word of your son, Tir. His rescue was carried out without incident, and he has been safely returned to your home, where a full guard has been stationed for maximum protection."

The relief that floods through him then is powerful enough to make his legs go weak, and it takes every ounce of restraint he possesses to stop himself from falling. _Tir is safe,_ he thinks, and repeats these words again and again in his mind like a mantra. All around him a triumphant cheer is taken up by his men – they seem rejuvenated by the news, eager to ride forward to victory once more.

"Thank you, Sonya," Teo says, and reaches out to clap the girl on the shoulder. "Your message comes at precisely the right time. Now, the Armored Cavalry will be able to end this war, once and for all."

.

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Teo wonders absently if his funeral will be like this. Will the entire military be in attendance? Will they carry his casket through the streets, followed by a procession of solemn, black-clad mourners? Will the haunting strains of "Dirge No.12 in D Minor" play as his corpse is lowered into the ground?

Dear lord, he hopes not.

Kilawher wouldn't have wanted this, either. Despite the fact that this is her funeral, he can't seem to find any traces of the woman he once knew so well. Everything that was Kilawher has been replaced by this strange, staunch, impersonal ceremony, as if the earth she was buried in has consumed her very soul. She would've wanted dancing. She would've wanted color. She would've wanted food and drink and merriment so that people would think back on her with a smile instead of tears.

Teo glances over at Sonya, who stands out from the dreary crowd in a stunning bright blue dress that matches her eyes oh so perfectly. Her face is slick and shiny with tears as she remembers her mother, her real mother, not some superficial façade invented for the public eye.

Their gazes meet, just for a moment, a flicker of understanding amidst all this _wrongness_.

There are some things, Teo thinks, which cannot be put into words.

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It's only been a few short months since she inherited the title of Naval Commander, but Sonya already looks weary. It's hard to believe that she's only twenty-one years old – there are shadows beneath her eyes and faint worry lines creasing her brow, and she walks stiffly, like an old woman might.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, General." Her voice is paper-thin, like a wisp of cloud. "I hate to impose on you like this, but… Well. You know why I've called you here. There are times when one must admit their own failings and push their foolish pride aside."

He smiles at her encouragingly. "Now, now, let's not put ourselves down. Every great general has to start somewhere, you know. I was overwhelmed beyond belief when I was first starting out. I made mistake after mistake. But I learned from them, as all military leaders do."

Her expression says that she's heard this speech a dozen times over, and he promptly shuts up.

"I just can't do it," she murmurs. "I can't be my mother. She was so… so…"

"Brilliant?"

"Yes," Sonya says, sighing heavily. "Brilliant."

They walk in silence through the halls of Toran Castle until finally Teo stops and turns to her.

"She was Kilawher, and you are Sonya. You may be her replacement, but you are not her replica, and anyone who expects you to emulate her perfectly is a fool, plain and simple."

Sonya looks at him long and hard. The corners of her lips twitch just a bit – an imperceptible smile.

"… Your words are much appreciated, General."

"Please," he says, "call me Teo."

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They discuss politics and strategy over dinner, and Sonya apologizes profusely for the lackluster meal.

"The chef just up and disappeared a few days after Mother's death," she says, and her sad, quiet laugh echoes through the room. "The kitchen staff is still here, so it could be worse, but the food has been terribly tasteless as of late…"

"It's fine, Sonya," Teo says. There is a dull, aching pain in his heart that he hasn't felt in many long years. "I once subsisted on military-issue rations for two weeks straight – this is luxury by comparison."

This gets a genuine laugh out of her, albeit a small one. _Poor girl,_ Teo thinks. _She needs to get her mind off of things._

"I hear that you are quite talented with a blade," he says casually. "But I have never seen your skill with my own eyes. How about a friendly duel?"

"A duel?" Immediately, Sonya's eyes light up, twinkling mischievously. "Hmm… Interesting. I accept your challenge! Though I must warn you, sir, I am very good. You would be wise not to underestimate me."

"Oh no, milady," Teo says. "I wouldn't dream of it."

(Despite her warning, she still manages to take him by surprise. Her body moves fluidly, like water, and she swings the sword as if it were an extension of herself, impossibly fast flashes of quicksilver cutting through the air. Before he can even react there is a blade hovering an inch away from his neck, and Sonya is smiling triumphantly, face flushed from the exertion and the excitement and something else that he might just be imagining.

_I'm getting too old for this,_ Teo thinks, and challenges her to "best two out of three.")

.

.

In the years after her death, Teo had often dreamt of his wife, dreamt of her warmth and her smile and her tender touches that he would never again feel. She had been such a beautiful woman – the kind of woman every man is supposed to marry. Soft and silken, with pink lips and rosy cheeks and a heart-shaped face that spoke of everlasting comfort and serenity.

It's a bit jarring, then, when he realizes:

There is nothing soft about Sonya Schulen.

Sonya is as taught as a bowstring, a coiled snake waiting to strike. Her hands are calloused and rough from years of weapons practice. Her lips are chapped and dry against his own. Whenever she moves he watches the push and pull of toned muscle beneath her skin and is entranced by this woman who is so very different in every way.

(Between them there is an uncontrollable heat, a fever that singes him from the inside out.)

Later, he trails a finger down the crook of her arm, the arch of her back, the curve of her hip, and feels her shiver beneath him.

"You're gorgeous," he says, and Sonya blushes like mad, burying her face in the pillow.

"Don't say things like that so earnestly," she mumbles. "It's embarrassing."

_But I have to tell you now,_ he thinks, remembering funerals and regrets and words left unsaid. _Because tomorrow you might be gone._

.

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"General Schulen will be joining us for dinner tonight," he announces. "Please make enough for seven, Gremio. And set out the fine china, if you will."

The kitchen falls silent. Tir elbows Ted in the side, Pahn looks decidedly uncomfortable, and Cleo pretends to be far more engrossed in her book than she actually is.

"… Of course, Master," Gremio says, smiling knowingly.

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Milich's gala is a tad subdued this year. Something is changing in the world, little by little, setting everyone's teeth on edge with the tension of waiting. Emperor Barbarossa is different now, but no one dares to say it aloud. War approaches the Empire once more, but no dares to speak the word. _We are like children,_ Teo thinks bitterly. _Shutting our eyes and pretending that everything is all right._

(But he can't deny that it's easier, to ignore the coming storm and focus instead on Sonya's smile, Sonya's laughter, Sonya's fingers entwined with his beneath the table.)

"Do you know who I met the other day?" Milich is saying, a glass of expensive Kanakan wine balanced precariously in one hand. "The painter Ivanov! You know of his work, of course? Fabulous talent right there – the best artist of our time, some say. I invited him to paint my portrait but he flat-out refused. Says he charges a hefty sum, no matter the customer. Not that I couldn't afford it, but you'd think any artist would leap at the chance to paint one such as me! The nerve of him, really!"

"Indeed," Sonya murmurs. "How could anyone pass up such a golden opportunity?"

Milich smiles broadly. "Oh thank you, my dear. I'm glad someone agrees with me. And I'm sure I'll manage to change his mind in time. I sent him an invitation to this very party, actually – I wonder if he's shown up yet…"

Frowning to himself, Milich promptly wanders off in search of his quarry.

"Poor Ivanov," Teo sighs. "Once Milich sets his mind on something, there's no dissuading him."

"Too true. Though I'm interested in meeting the man as well. I've been wanting to commission a portrait for a while now, and who better than the world's most renowned artist?"

"A portrait? Of whom, might I ask?"

Sonya tilts her head and beams at him radiantly. "A portrait of you, of course!"

Teo stares at her blankly. "Me? But… why?"

"I'll hang it above my bed, obviously," Sonya says, laughing, and though her tone is teasing there is a faint tremble of sincerity, buried deep down. "So that even when you're away I'll feel as if you're right there with me."

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(The empty space next to her is like an endless chasm, and Sonya curls in upon herself, hugging her chest tightly like she's about to fall apart.

In the darkness of the room, she can feel his eyes upon her, but she has never felt so terribly, irrevocably alone.)


End file.
